Early Morning Rain
by Vendea
Summary: Harry's goes back for his seventh and final year at Hogwarts and learns a few things about people he never bothered to get to know. Will evolve into Draco/Harry slash. Rating will go up as fic progresses.


Gray clouds hung low over an even grayer London. A thin, rather pale face stared out of a lumbering car. The face was not shedding tears, but seemed to hold a great sadness. The eyes were unusually green, though their amazing tint was dulled behind round black spectacles, and they looked as if they had not twinkled with merriment for a long time. A mop of black hair covered the boy's forehead (for he was a boy, The-Boy-Who-Lived, actually) but if the viewer was able to see his forehead, he would behold a slender, lightning shaped scar. The viewer would perhaps be fascinated with this irregular shaped wound, but the boy would be oblivious to any staring done by onlookers, for he had long ago gotten used to his fame, though, he wondered what was fame? A blessing…or a curse?

His eyes stared unseeing at the passing people, hurrying along the cracked sidewalks (which were not unlike his heart, broken open, for all to see the horrible weeds that grew within). He seemed to be pondering on something quite important, for his lips were contorted in thought, and his chin rested on his hands. But we shall never know what was going on in the raven-haired boy's mind, for at that precise moment, the car in which he was riding in stopped abruptly, and our tale begins.

"Out. Now." A harsh voice instructed.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon, good-bye." Harry Potter murmured, just loud enough for his uncle to hear.

There was no reply. No warm endearment. No, "We'll miss you." But Harry was used to this, and only just barely sighed as he unloaded his trunk from the back of the car. His face betrayed nothing as he watched his surrogate family drive away in their car, tires squealing in their haste to leave this place, this train station, where wizards and witches flocked to in abundance. Harry turned around, not unhappy to be leaving the horrible Dursleys for the last time. It was Harry's seventh year, and he would graduate the following spring, it was a sobering thought.

He wheeled his cart until he stood facing the barrier that separated platforms nine and ten. The wall looked very solid, as it did every year Harry had stood before it. But now he had faith, he was not some fearful first year, scared of his very textbooks. Still. Harry took a deep breath and approached the barrier at a slight jog. Speeding up only when he got right before it. As always, his breath was quite taken away once he had passed through the wall. Even though it had become more regular, more mundane, magic would never cease to amaze and fascinate him.

The sights and sounds of Platform 9 ¾ accosted his eyes and ears. Wizards and witches of all ages were shouting, laughing, yelling, running. Frustrated parents berated unheeding children, friends gathered in large clumps to discuss their summer adventures. Harry stood slightly to the side, observing all of this, and though he was quite unaware of it, a happy grin spread across his features. It was one of the few genuine smiles that had crossed his face in a while. Not seeing Ron or Hermione anywhere, he decided to unload his trunk onto a compartment and get some seats on the Hogwarts Express.

After struggling with his trunk for a good ten minutes, he finally succeeded in shoving it in a compartment. Mopping his forehead with the sleeve of his rather baggy shirt (it had once belonged to Dudley, as most of his clothes did). He turned around and knocked straight into someone holding an armful of packages. The person he had so forcefully bumped let out a grunt of surprise and toppled over, boxes flying everywhere. Immediately Harry knelt to help retrieve the stray parcels, not looking at the poor victim of his reckless movements. Staggering under the weight of so many packages he stood up and peered at the person he had just crashed into.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry's jaw dropped, and the boxes in his arms almost tumbled to the ground again. Malfoy had changed. A lot.

His face, so often twisted into an arrogant expression, was now swept clean of any emotion; hate, love, insolence; it betrayed nothing. An air of calm detachment surrounded him, that was more than any childish snobbery. And his eyes. Harry shivered as he gazed into them. They were cold. Of course, they had never been full of warmth and love but now, once slate gray, like the clouds on a rainy day, his eyes were almost black. The expression (or lack thereof) in his eyes reminded Harry of something, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. As Harry stared in wonder at Malfoy, he noticed that blonde-haired boy had grown a bit physically too. He was now about an inch and a half taller than Harry. Harry felt a little indignant at this. _He_ had always been the taller one. Able to look at Malfoy straight on. Now it would just be a little easier for Malfoy to look down his nose at Harry. Harry's gaze swept over the pale boy's flawless features one more time, then he said quietly,

"Sorry…"

"That's okay." Malfoy replied coolly, taking the parcels from Harry's stunned arms, and disappearing into the crowd. Harry stared at the place where Draco Malfoy's face had just been for a moment longer, then he turned around and headed toward the Hogwarts Express.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the train's bell sounded and it pulled away from Platform 9 ¾. Harry Potter sat alone in the corner of a compartment, gazing dispassionately at the station he would be leaving behind for another year. Vaguely, he wondered where Ron and Hermione were, they hadn't missed the train for he remembered seeing Mr. And Mrs. Weasley from his train window. They [Ron and Hermione] were probably off snogging in some empty compartment, having quite forgotten about Harry. Harry knew this wasn't true, but he could not help the little traitorous thoughts that popped into his brain. He knew that Ron and Hermione were in love, knew they hardly ever got to see each other, and knew that they needed there time together alone, without Harry tagging along like a third wheel. Still, it hurt to see the special glances, the looks they gave each other when they thought Harry wasn't watching. And all this made Harry ache. Ache with a bitterness he didn't know he possessed. It was not that he was jealous of Ron, Hermione would always be a friend, and Harry could never think of her otherwise. It was just that Harry was so alone. His relationship with Cho had lasted about a year, based more on physical attraction than anything else. And finally they had decided to break up, the memories of Cedric keeping them apart.

Charcoal skies opened up, and rain began to fall. Harry saw it through the window. Slow, sad rain, that reminded Harry of someone weeping. Rain that dripped from tree leaves like a broken water faucet. Harry watched a drop make its way down the window. It absorbed other, smaller drops as it meandered downward, and his eyes followed the wet path it made, until it disappeared into the wood at the bottom of the glass. As the shower turned into a rather violent storm, Harry's thoughts turned to a certain Death Eater's son with gray eyes.

Draco Malfoy. How little Harry, or anyone knew about that boy. Oh sure, he knew he was an ass hole, a petty, arrogant snob. But really, that was all he knew. And when Malfoy had dismissed Harry's apology? That was certainly new. The Malfoy Harry knew would have shoved Harry down and told him to stuff it, or made him grovel. Harry didn't know what had happened to Malfoy. It had started at the end of last year, he supposed. Up until then, Malfoy had been constantly in his face, taunting him, about Voldemort's return, Cedric's death, anything that would get a rise out of Harry. But then, when Malfoy had returned from Easter break, he had been subdued, quiet, and withdrawn. For the rest of the year he didn't speak to, or bother Harry again. At the time Harry hadn't looked too deeply into it, he was too relieved that Malfoy seemed to be laying off. But now, Harry wondered what had happened to change Malfoy so. Something to do with his father probably, there were rumors around Hogwarts that Lucius Malfoy beat his son, Harry hadn't accepted them at first, he had believed Malfoy too strong to be terrorized like that, but now he wasn't so sure. And of course, there was the whole matter of the Death Eater thing. Lucius certainly was one, Harry would remember him forever as kneeling to kiss Voldemort's robes at the end of fourth year, and he had always assumed that Malfoy would voluntarily follow in his father's footsteps and become a Death Eater too.

Harry remembered what the look in Malfoy's eyes had reminded him of. They reminded him of a caged animal. Not unlike the look in Pettigrew's eyes when Voldemort had told him to cut his own arm off. Harry shivered again as he remembered Malfoy's eyes. They made him uneasier than he wished to admit.

His thoughts took him back to fifth and sixth year. Quite possibly the calmest, and worst years he had experienced at Hogwarts. Which was vaguely surprising considering they were the only two years he hadn't almost died. Fifth year had probably been _the_ worst, he amended. Mostly because it was the year after Voldemort's return and Cedric's death. Harry had returned to school prepared for the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for what he experienced that year. No one would talk to him, only his close friends in Gryffindor would meet his eye. Whatever room he had entered would immediately fall silent. Everyone in the castle was convinced he was a murderer, not matter what Dumbledore said. None of this helped Harry's nightmares, which had begun to grow increasingly more sinister. He would wake up in the middle of the night to horrible memories of that night at the end of fourth year. So Harry trudged through that year, barely passing all his classes, not caring about anything, least of all his grades. The only thing that could make him a little happy anymore was Quidditch, but still he was on his guard. Convinced that Voldemort would make an assault on the castle. But no attack came. The year flew by, with Harry constantly looking behind corners, expecting an assault at any moment. But gradually, the students forgot (or _made_ themselves forget) the threat that Voldemort posed. And once again Hogwarts was filled with laughter, the shrieks of children who thought they feared nothing. The calmness only put Harry on edge more, even though people now accepted him. No one believed Voldemort had returned, so now they had little to fear from Harry, or so they thought.

Sixth year, he could barely remember. One year of his life, and he hardly knew what had happened in it. How sad. But he did remember the masks they all wore. Hiding their fear behind grinning faces. Harry's mask, however, was the best. His was so fool-proof that his friends didn't even notice it. When Ron or Hermione asked if Harry was all right, and he answered yes, they just nodded their heads and carried on, not concerned that their boy wonder might be dying slowly on the inside. Or perhaps they _knew_, but couldn't bear to see what emotions Harry hid inside, away from the light. Harry really couldn't blame them. They, too, had their burdens to bear, their masks to don, they could only believe (blindly) that Harry was the Hogwarts golden-boy, their hero. He would not, _could not_, fail them. So Harry just pretended he was fine, like they expected him too, he feigned laughter at empty jokes, pulled half-hearted pranks, and generally acted as if he hadn't a care in the world. As Harry's spirit slowly withered, Ron and Hermione fell in love. Quite without asking Harry's permission. One day, they just weren't waiting for him in the Common Room, and Harry had been forced to walk to the Great Hall alone. And from that time on, they were no longer the "Inseparable Trio," but more often the, "Sometimes 'Inseparable Trio' But Usually Just Harry By Himself With Ron And Hermione Off Somewhere Else."

They shouldn't have fallen in love. They knew as well as Harry did that Voldemort would not be content to just fidget in the shadows. That he would make a return, and that one or both of them might be killed. But love does not choose an appropriate time or place. It just _happens_. So Harry made himself scarce whenever they were around, and watched silently as his two best friends fell in love.

He sighed, a long sad sigh of someone who has seen much, but knew little to do with all he had seen. Slowly he reached and up to take off his glasses and lay down on his back over the seats of the train. For awhile he was content to just stare at the rain hitting the windows. The dark blue clouds that hung threateningly low over the fast-moving Hogwarts Express. But quite against his will his eyelids drooped closed, the hand holding his glasses fell from his chest and hung at his side, dangling the black glasses in midair. A drowsy snore or two could be heard as the Boy-Who-Lived - Harry Potter - the hero of the wizarding world, fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to the boy in a deep slumber, a fair-haired figure slipped quietly into the same compartment and into the shadowy corner opposite Harry.


End file.
